


The Red Cloak of Justice

by DixieDale



Category: Clan O'Donnell - Fandom, Garrison's Gorillas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-03
Updated: 2018-06-03
Packaged: 2019-05-17 06:55:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14827527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: When a half-baked idea causes Garrison and his men to end up in dire straits, Meghada is taking names and making a list, calling for Clan Justice.  Among the Outlanders, the one delegated to deal out Justice might wear a badge or carry a lawbook or wield a gavel.  Among the Clan, for the most serious of offences, Justice was embodied in the person of the Red Duchess, who wears a red cloak and carries a crystal sphere.  Woe betide any Outlander who was Judged by Her to be guilty of an offence against the Clan, for there would be little mercy given.





	The Red Cloak of Justice

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, most likely an anachronism using the term ROA - but it really seemed to fit the bill. The concept is hardly anything new, of course, but there actually being a name for it, that's a different story.

Calvin Franks was a man known for being close with a dollar. That had served him well in civilian life, and he had found it to serve him equally well when he joined the military. Along with the other things he felt to be his duty, he felt keeping a close eye (and fist) on the money to be a solemn responsibility. He not only kept a close eye on new expenditures, he also kept a close eye on how monies were currently being spent; he had strong opinions on something he'd heard called 'Return On Investment'. It was a very simple formula and one he used on many occasions to what he felt were excellent results.

The fact that ROI did not take into consideration various risks, various intangibles, well, Calvin was at heart a very linear individual, and didn't see any reason to complicate a perfectly simple process. He simply gathered the dollar figures, translated them into local coinage if needed (though regretting the necessity, seeing no reason everyone didn't just use dollars!), plugged them into the formula and voila! He could tell if something was getting an acceptable or unacceptable ROI. So it was when he took a good look at the housing situation in place for Special Forces and Special Operations, raised his brows in disapproval of the general idea, but started pulling figures together.

No, it was not something he'd been asked to do, but he did SO hate waste! In his mind he envisioned a file cabinet, full of names and locations of those with special talents, but the men fully integrated with all the others, treated no diffently than all the others. He could just see it - HQ would come up with a Mission, an officer would be assigned, he would decide what skills were needed, and a clerk would go to the file and look at the roster, and pick out one of whatever skills were required, probably in rotation.

"Exceedingly simple, cost-efficient, a much better way of doing things!"

If any protested that his plan made no allowances for continual training, divergent personalities, familiarity with the other potential team members, or even of the officers' familiarity with the team members, he simply brushed them off as making far too much of such things.

"Totally irrelevant poppy-cock! Efficiency, my boy, ROI, that's the ticket!"

"What do you mean they're moving us to the Base? You know they don't house Special Forces or Special Ops with the regular soldiers; it's just not a good mix, and for a lot of different reasons! Even if the groups meshed, which they do not, we have training, we have to be available for briefings, be ready to head out at a moment's notice, not to mention the security issues!"

Garrison was beside himself; this had all the makings of a first class disaster, and why the Brass couldn't see it, he'd never understand. He'd thought to reach Major Richards; surely he would support them in fighting this ludicrous idea. But Richards was in the field, who knows where; well, of course HQ had an idea, they were the ones who'd sent him out, but he was hardly accessible for such nonsense as dealing with housing for Garrison's team.

"It's a trial run, Lieutenant. Our expert says it would be much more efficient, much more cost effective; we agreed to do a small test, and your group was chosen due to its size. And it's not to the Base, not the local one; you will be relocated to Sheffield; that will avoid any issues that might occur due to previous contact between your men and those assigned locally. That will keep personalities from skewing the results, our expert says."

The colonel was adamant, and over protests the men gathered their things and headed out by truck to Sheffield.

Garrison was livid as he followed along in one of the jeeps. His maps, files, all were to be left behind; it seems part of the test was to see if that wasn't just 'unnecessary redundancy', whether he couldn't just use what was available at the base where they were headed. Garrison had put in a lot of work on those items; every time they came back from a mission, he'd annotated those files, those maps with new information; now they were to discard all that information paid for with blood and sweat, and use things printed who knows when and by whom, things he knew damned well were woefully inaccurate! He gave strict orders and knew he'd done all he could to protect that vital trove of information; hopefully it would be enough.

Sergeant Major Gil Rawlins watched the truck pull out, and a cloud of apprehension seemed to cover his face. He was still in charge at the Mansion, at least temporarily; who knows if the men would be returning or not, if the Mansion would stay in use or not. They'd been given no warning, no time to prepare other than getting their gear together.

"Private Jenkins, watch over things for a bit, will you? I've something I need to take care of," and Alfie Jenkins watched with knowing eyes as Rawlins drove away.

Private Perkins moved over to ask, "is he headed where I think he is?"

Jenkins never let his eyes off that disappearing jeep, "he's just taking the jeep out to test the steering, Ted, that's all." 

"But . . ."

"Ted, he's testing the steering; remember that if anyone asks, alright?"

And the two men exchanged grim knowing looks, "yes, think I noticed the steering on that jeep being a little wonky myself. Good thing he's doing that. Hate to see anything bad happen." And they went back inside the Mansion to clean up some of the mess left behind.

It was an hour before the Sergeant Major returned; he'd been unsuccessful at his first stop; the person he wanted to 'take a look at the steering' wasn't there, and he had to go just a bit farther to their other local 'steering expert'. He only hoped they'd managed, between him describing the problem and the other person being so helpful and concerned about the problem, that the steering problem could soon be resolved without any damage. In the meantime, he and his two trusted assistants would be boxing up those maps and notes the Lieutenant set such store by, along with the files on their activities, the actions of his team that deserved favorable consideration by the powers that be; those would be moving to someplace safe. He sighed at the thought that he was having to protect such things from the powers that be, the ones supposedly on THEIR side, {"sometimes it's bloody 'ard fighting a war on so many bloody fronts!"} he thought to himself in some frustration.

Sheffield Air Base - one of the larger military bases west of London, one with extra barracks being added all the time. A base well accustomed to the influx of new soldiers, systems in place, well-organized, mess halls, hospital, stockade. A base, also, now the assigned location for possibly some old adversaries and some about to become new ones.

Garrison had requested separate quarters for his men, him to be housed with him. The Base Commander had denied the request as being impertinent, unnecessary, and totally inappropriate, even if his orders regarding this little experiment hadn't specifically required they be with the others, which they did. The men went to K Barracks, Garrison went to officer-land.

He resolved to spend as much time with the guys as possible, dreaming up training exercises, having them work on map reading, whatever, but found himself being called away for meetings, briefings, some understandable but some he found totally incomprehensible, especially when he found himself sitting through a meeting concerning the color of paint in the new officers' housing; no one else there seemed to know why he'd been included either, but they just shrugged and went on with it, ignoring his teeth-grinding and checking of his wristwatch. After two hours of that, which resulted in a tie vote between sage green and salmon, he rose, smiled politely and pleaded another meeting and headed back to his jeep. He was beginning to think that so-called expert was arranging that too, his being away so much, and he would have been right. 

Garrison had instituted new orders for the guys: stick together, no wandering off by yourself, no pushing for trouble. That went by the wayside when the Base Commander decided, based on the specific recommendations of that 'expert' that after a few days to 'acclimate' themselves to the Base, the team members needed to be split up, integrated into the regular command.

"Much more efficient; they can always be told to report when they are needed for some special reason. Lessens the need for special arrangements, housing, guards, meals; much less costly! Nonsense, all of that really!"

No one saw any need to notify Garrison of that little arrangement. Garrison had come back from a briefing in London to find his team gone, lock, stock and duffle bags. It took some serious yelling on his part to locate Casino in J Barracks, already sporting a black eye and bruised knuckles. He bulldozed the initially resistant barracks chief with a cold, "we're headed out for a team training exercise; strange though it might seem to you, Corporal, that means I require the presence of my team." Casino picked up his duffle and followed the Lieutenant, throwing his bag in the back, climbing in, not even giving the shocked non-com a backwards look.

Actor was located next, intact but worried, in the still only half-full Barracks M, with no barracks chief in sight to give him an argument. He and his duffle joined the others in Garrison's jeep. Goniff and Chief were harder to find.

Goniff had ended up in D Barracks, but was out on a forced march; - "twenty mile ruck march, a forty-five'er - left a couple of hours ago, don't expect them back for quite a while; the Lieutenant will probably have them do some inplace work at the turn around point, especially if any tried to lag behind," was the laconic answer from that chief.

"Ruck march?" Actor asked sotto voce, only to get the unpleasant answer, "forced quick march in full military gear, combat boots, rifle, ammo and all; a forty-five'ere means with a 45 pound rucksack strapped to your back."

Casino protested, "the little Limey'll never survive that, Warden!" and Actor seconded the notion.

"Craig, the four rounds of the obstacle course that idiot put us through, even stripped down to basics, that almost killed him; he's just not made for that!"

The difficult choice was whether to try and intercept the forced march or locate Chief, and Garrison reluctantly opted for the second, but with a crisp order to the barracks chief.

"Get on the damned radio and reach whoever's in charge! Find out where they are and send out a jeep to pick up my man and get him back here double-time! We're due to leave here ASAP, and he's point man on this mission, damn it! Casino, grab his gear!"

The non-com hustled to follow orders, impelled by the furious tone in the Lieutenant's voice, and the three headed out on the search for their remaining team member, only to find him dumped back of Q Barracks, unconscious, bleeding. A fast yell brought the barracks chief who didn't seem all that upset.

"From the story I got, Injun was causing trouble, shootin off his mouth, getting above himself, maybe gettin a little frisky; some of the guys got tired of it, decided to shut it for him, teach him his place. He'll know the score a little better when he wakes up."

Garrison took a deep breath, took another look at Chief, his injuries being check by a furious Actor and an even more furious Casino, and in a voice so low the Sergeant had to strain to hear him, "I want the men who did this; I want their names, and I want them in the stockade til I have time to deal with them, do I make myself clear?"

Casino collected Chief's gear, noting the absence of his blades and sheath, while Actor and Garrison helped get an unconscious Chief to the jeep. A word from Casino prompted a hard demand, "and I want his weapons returned; knives - two of them - arm sheaths - you get them, you keep them for me, I'll be back for them!" and they raced toward the Base Hospital. 

Their reception was lukewarm, with the doctor in charge just giving them a weary, "yes, we heard all about it; he sent three men into my emergency room, you know. Put him down over there somewhere, we'll get to him as soon as we take care of the others who got here first."

Garrison took a long look around the room, "I don't see anyone else unconscious or bleeding, doctor! You'll treat him now!" and somehow the doctor found himself doing just that. He detailed the injuries to Garrison, and the young officer closed his eyes and swallowed harshly.

"Any permanent damage that you can see? What treatment?"

The doctor shrugged, "no, and none; he'll get over it. And I heard he was asking for it; he might as well get used to it, unless he changes his ways," and Actor and Casino came into the room just in time to prevent Garrison from taking a roundhouse swing at the white-coated man.

"Craig, Goniff just pulled in and he's in pretty bad shape."

"Casino, stay with Chief," and they hurried out to the jeep that had just pulled up, and Actor had been right; Goniff was sprawled in the back of the jeep, limp and shaking, dry to the touch and deathly pale, way past his normal pale color elsewhere, but with a livid flush to his cheeks. He was still in the full uniform, heavy boots, rucksack still strapped to his back. Cursing, Actor and Garrison started getting him out of the rucksack, all the gear that was weighting him down.

Actor mentally calculated the weight of the clothes, equipment, rucksack, compared it to what Goniff probably weighed; thought of that forced march, saw bruises that hadn't been there the last time he'd seen the little pickpocket, and in spite of being the level-headed one of the team, wanted to strangle whoever was responsible for this. {"It's a good thing Casino isn't out here right now, or God help us, Meghada!"}

He looked around at the hospital, at the doctor who followed them out and was now watching with only a casual interest in the yelling, none at all in the man outside who was obviously in 'pretty bad shape'. Mentally weighing the odds between letting his men get 'treated' here with who knows what results, and making a run for real help, he turned to Actor.

"Get Chief, you and Casino load him into our jeep; be as careful as you can. I'll try to get Goniff as comfortable as possible. Get some canteens of water; he's bound to be dehydrated; get towels and a bucket, too; you know him. We're out of here."

The Base Lieutenant stood, shocked, at the sight of a fellow officer gently easing the limp, half-conscious man out of the rest of his heavy gear, just as carefully easing him out of the rear of the jeep, talking to him in an low, near inaudible voice, almost carrying him, and settling him gently into the front seat of the jeep. His expression said he thought that was NOT something an officer should be doing; Garrison's expression told him exactly what Garrison thought of his opinion. If the Lieutenant was really good at reading expressions, he would also know it would be best not to run into Garrison off Base anytime in the foreseeable future.

The guards at the gate didn't question them leaving, which was probably good; maybe it was just that he was an officer, just as likely the look on the men's faces that told them that wouldn't be a good idea.

They stopped out of sight of the gates, tried unsuccessfully to get some water into both of the injured men, and Casino asked, anger and frustration warring in his voice, "where to, Warden? They both need help, fast!"

Garrison snarled, "just like I told them, Casino, it's a training mission. You're on point - let's see how well you can navigate to that little hospital in London, how fast you can get us there without spilling us, okay?"

"You got it!" and they roared off, Garrison and Actor concentrating on keeping the injured men securely in their seats, Actor in the rear with Chief, Garrison in the front with Goniff. Goniff was so far gone, the bucket and towels weren't even needed.

Garrison doubted anyone had ever made that journey in the time Casino had managed; he was pretty sure he'd left his own stomach, maybe his heart, somewhere along the way when the safecracker had made that screeching turn right outside of Oxford. They had to slow down inside London, of course, but Casino very expertly wound his way to the entrance of that small hospital, blaring the horn as he turned in.

By the time he'd come to a full stop and jumped out, staff was there, and at a shout, two wheeled gurneys at hand. Garrison felt a hand at his shoulder; still furious, scared even more at the condition of his men, especially since he could get a better look now they were stationary, he almost reacted with a swing of his fist.

Patrick gripped him tighter, "Lieutenant, ease up! Let us get them inside, and you too. We can't have a scene out here."

Garrison swallowed hard, and nodded, stepped back to watch the hospital staff carefully take Chief from the back seat, Actor, in a low voice, giving James the rundown of injuries as reported by the other doctor, "but I don't think he cared enough to be thorough; he certainly showed no signs of it. Certainly he had no inclination to treat his injuries."

James raised his brows at that, but he had long ago gotten over his wearing of rose-colored glasses where his fellow physicians were concerned.

"We care enough, Actor; we'll do right by him, by them both," he assured the tall Italian, and Actor knew they would; they always had, since that first time when Meghada had called out to her brother Patrick and his James when Goniff had been injured.

Casino was cursing, long and hard, but low, trying to keep it all under control. He'd been moved back out of the way as well while Patrick directed the attendants in getting a totally limp Goniff out of the jeep and securely onto a gurney.

Patrick had been incredulous when he heard what had happened there. "I wonder how many men they lose to sheer stupidity like that! You can't put a man through that without building up to it, even the forced march without the extra load! And the bruises?" And he added a few curses of his own when he heard of the gentle 'encouragement' the sergeant had felt impelled to deliver. {"Little sister is going to go out of her mind!"}

It took Major Richards to face the Base Commander down, what with that august individual trying to say Garrison and his team were AWOL.

"Nonsense, Colonel. Garrison and his team may have been, somehow, I know not how or why, assigned to quarters here at Sheffield; I fail to see any sense to that, but I'll look into that now I'm back. However, they are not a part of this base; they are Special Forces and report to Special Forces as far as training and missions are concerned. The Lieutenant informed several of your people that they were headed out on a training exercise; where is not your concern, nor any other details of that exercise, nor would any of their actual missions be. That is strictly on a need-to-know basis."

"Also, it is my understanding that one, maybe more, of his team was attacked; I want the particulars, the names of the assailants, everything, on my desk by this afternoon. I also understand the personnel at the hospital were less than helpful; I find that frankly appalling. The conduct of some of your other people, well, I am not favorably impressed, sir".

"No, Colonel, I'm not trying to give you orders nor tell you how to run your base. I am well aware you outrank me. I am telling you a valuable Special Forces operative was attacked and gravely injured here at your base, and another suffered significant damage by being mishandled; as a consequence the field-readiness of that team is now diminished to the point of my having to put them on Stand-Down. Hardly a desirable outcome, you must admit, Colonel, what with the war and all. Most inconvenient! As a Special Forces Handler, I am requesting you cooperate. In the best interests of us all." 

Richards had gotten back to HQ after his little foray into Italy at the same time Ainsley's team pulled in from their Norway jaunt, along with the O'Donnell woman who'd been doing an assist on that mission. They all received the news pretty much at the same time, and if Meghada was livid, utterly beside herself with rage, the others weren't far behind.

"You just don't put Special Forces in with the rank and file, Major! You just don't!" Ainsley stormed, and Richards agreed.

Never mind the need for ongoing training, the building and maintaining of the trust and inter-reliance necessary for such a team, the need to have them available when needed, it took a special type of man to work in Special Forces and in Special Ops, and they were a breed of their own; they did not mix well with others. And Garrison's men? Well, that was even more the case.

Richards had headed out as soon as his own debriefing was over; had seen Ainsley's team into their debriefing, and caught only a slight glance of the Dragon as she headed out the door. In her subtle phrasing, "fuck the debriefing! Ainsley and the guys can tell them anything they want to know. Don't get in my way, Kevin!"

She'd headed out the door to make some phone calls; she'd not risk calling from inside HQ; she had told him they were all probably tapped, if not once possibly several times over, "who the hell knows who's listening, Kevin! More like a party-line than a secured-line would be my guess! Probably have Eva Braun listening in during her afternoon schnapps break!" If anyone knew, or had a suspicion of where the team was, could locate them, it would be her. He knew his own call to the Base Commander at Sheffield told him that worthy didn't have a clue and was ready to froth at the mouth over that little fact. He'd gotten the call from her just as he was headed out, heard with a more than grim face of what had transpired from Garrison's point of view, heard the rage underlying the tightness in her voice. He'd spent the drive getting his information in order, deciding what could be done to somehow get things back in line. He knew one thing; that was not going to be easy.

The knowledge that Garrison and the men were at the small private hospital where two, no three now, of her brothers, including brother Patrick's Bond-mate James, devoted their time was some relief. The serious tone in James' voice when he told her to stay calm when she came in, at least as much as she could, that neither of those injured needed to be, indeed could tolerate being agitated in any way, well, that told her in no way was she going to be pleased at their condition. And pleased was as far from her reaction as you could probably get.

She'd heard the reports, stopped in to see each man; Actor and Garrison were the only ones without physical damage. Casino had taken minor damage, but no more than if he'd been in a very brief bar fight. Goniff was still being rehydrated; his heart beat was still not in anywhere near the range the doctors would have liked; was having bouts of intense chest pain and nausea, the one of course only exacerbating the other, plus a blinding headache, and he'd taken an overall pounding by the ordeal, including some substantial bruising from the 'encouragement' the sergeant had seen fit to administer to 'cure your malingering hide of any notion you'll get away with that nonsense with us!'.

She wanted so badly to curl up next to him and hold him, help him through the spasms, but he was not her only responsibility. She left him with a gentle caress and a soft whisper. She'd be headed back, but not before seeing Chief.

His report had her seeing red, and the look of him lying in that bed, seeing the injuries immediately visible, knowing of others, had her white around the lips, and a pounding headache of her own from trying to hold in her anger. And when his eyes met hers, stoic, all emotion held deep within, keeping his distance, she did not touch him, not at first, but sat beside him, spoke to him as she would have spoken to any of her other brothers, telling him of his teammates, nay, his brothers-in-spirit, that they were here being tended, telling him he was safe here, that he would heal because he was too strong to let the thrice-be-damned Outlanders win. Telling him of their caring, their love for him.

And with a look of killing frost in her gold-brown eyes, eyes that seemed flicker and glow in the dim light, she promised Justice. No, not Outlander justice which meant something or nothing depending on who was involved. Clan Justice, "as would be delivered for Patrick, or Ian or James or any others born within or adopted by the Clan. That I promise you, my brother; honor will not allow otherwise," and he sighed and nodded and finally relaxed, and closed his eyes, knowing she spoke nothing but the truth. And when she reached out to stroke his hair gently, dropped a soft kiss on his forehead, he accepted it, even welcomed it, as a brother would accept and welcome the comfort of a sister. And she stayed til he slept, til Casino came to sit in her stead.

She made her way back to Goniff's room, there to relieve Garrison, who she gave strict orders to "go, there's another bed in the last room down the hall; Actor's already there; sleep while you can; you'll be needed later and need to have your wits about you; you can't stay missing for too long without HQ exploding." And if instead of sitting beside her Englishman she finally did what she'd wanted to do earlier, curl on the bed beside him, holding him within her arms, giving what comfort she could, well, neither the doctors or the nurses raised a brow; they were Clan, Family and Friends; they understood and worked around her, making her move away only when it was truly necessary.

Actor had been sent earlier to rest in that last room; he would take his own turn next sitting by a bedside. Neither of the men would be left alone; they were not alone, not anymore, and perhaps that would help; surely it would have to.

By the end of the next day, Goniff and Chief had been moved into a shared room, and that was of some comfort in itself, though there was anger too, at seeing the damage done to the other.

Garrison had to leave on the second day; Actor and Casino stayed another day before Garrison came to collect them. Meghada stayed til Chief and Goniff were released, Richards searching for her in vain, and her brothers made sure the two were released together and only when Garrison was there to take them back to the Mansion, and during that time she talked with each man, heard the full story, and offered comfort, and reassurance, and a quiet, steady promise, a promise they had no doubt she intended to keep, and was quite capable of keeping well.

"There will be Justice."

Her only question was to herself, {"how far down the list do I go? Who is deserving of what, and to what end? Malicious intent versus criminal negligence versus stupidity."} That took some thought, some consideration, but soon it was clear in her mind. It would take some time, but Justice would be delivered.

Two months had passed, the men had healed, had gone on another mission, then a second.

The invitation to spend an evening at The Doves had come from Meghada, and they accepted, particularly since she was so insistent, "it's my treat, and I do so want you all to come!" Anyway, Garrison thought it might be good for them; they were beginning to get closer to normal, closer but not totally back yet, too quiet, too subdued; though the lack of shenanigans ordinarily would have pleased him, he found himself a little worried by their absence now.

If Chief was a little slow to regain that faint twitch of his lips that constituted a smile for him, one they had become accustomed to seeing much more frequently; if Goniff still got winded too easily in a way that had AJ Riley frowning when he listened to his heart, the others understood that, and while it made them angry all over again, they held back from any little road trips to Sheffield because they had been asked to do so. No, not by Garrison alone, which probably would not have swayed them overly much, knowing as an officer he couldn't really say anything BUT that; and they'd seen his face, knew just how much he cared about what had happened to his men. But that same request had been made by the Dragon, as surprising as that was, and by the two who'd taken the most damage.

"No, don want that; it's being taken care of; let it alone" would come from Chief, and Goniff would just get a cold, even icy look in his hazy blue eyes, "not now; time may come, mates, but not yet." While he had complete faith in her, he still remembered how wrong things could go, and kept his options open. There would be payment, one way or another; he'd made up his mind to that a long, long time ago, that there would always be a payment, no matter how long it might take, as long as he drew breath, but he'd allow time first, just as she'd asked. 

They were back at the Mansion, never having returned to Sheffield, thanks to Major Richards and some of the other Special Forces/Special Ops Handlers. Well, Garrison had gone back, just once, to retrieve Chief's weapons; he'd also inquired about those men, the ones supposedly in the Stockade, but no one would give him any information, which made him boil.

The other teams, team leaders? While some of them had no great affection for Garrison and his team, well, next time it could be them, their men, and the place to put a stop to such idiocy was now, not later.

Major Richards had delivered a ROI document of his own, prepared by someone quite adept at such calculations, (yes, she'd made good use of her time sitting at the bedside of the two men she cared so deeply for), but this document included in the formula the cost of every single one of those risks, those intangibles, those unknowns, showing just what that little experiment had truly cost, and while Calvin Franks did not accept the inclusion of those, argued against them, one of the Generals did accept, it would appear. There was something about the way she'd detailed even the excess gas mileage and those canteens of water, the wear and tear on the jeeps, the cost of time while Garrison was listening to a panel discuss whether sage green or salmon would be most appealing, that made it clear she'd overlooked not one little item!

General Abernathy was firmly of the opinion that those costs HAD to be included for the results to be valid; a request by Franks to repeat the experiment was denied, and somehow Calvin Franks was in a position of having all his future bright ideas turned away without consideration; he now had the reputation as one who failed to thoroughly think through a project before leaping into it, to the detriment of pretty much everyone and everything involved, all of which was most unfair in his opinion!

He ended up asking for a transfer, determined he'd be better appreciated elsewhere; there was a tidy little entry he'd found in the postings showing a position open stateside, one he was eminently qualified for, could almost have been tailor-made for him based on his dosier. He was given his transfer, much to his pleasure, and packed and was gone, taking one last sneering look at the place that had so undervalued him and his efforts. His triumphant entry onto the plane was marred only that little jostling he got when he and one of the attendants tried to go through the door at the same time, but she was built nicely enough he hadn't really minded the contact, had rather relished it in fact, made him think that one of the very first things he'd do when he got stateside was to hunt up a woman. He'd napped on the plane, smiling to think about breathing in the warm familiar air of his destination, stretched, gathered his things and made his way to the exit door of the airplane, and took a deep breath and looked around.

The freezing air stiffening in his lungs, he stared in shock at the mounds of snow, the ice, the tarp-covered trucks with heavy studded wheels and chains. He pulled out his paperwork, the paperwork he would have sworn said 'Tulsa', knew for a fact had said Tulsa, just where he'd asked to be transferred to; when he looked again, though, that paperwork clearly read 'Thule'.

Thule! Greenland! The Base wasn't even officially established yet, just a few arched huts. And oh my God! Were those dog sleds??? And he'd really always hated cold weather!

The reaction of the team leader there, to hearing he was for some totally unknown reason getting a new man for the duration, one he couldn't transfer out, one with no knowledge of their mission, no skills that applied, and a reputation for not thinking things through, using inadequate information to put programs into place, all at an unacceptable cost, well, that didn't make his welcome any the sweeter. It took all of four hours before 'Mr. Roi', as he became known, was assigned to permanent latrine and KP duty, oh, along with the responsibility for clearing the paths between the huts after each snowfall, and any other scutwork that had previously took valuable time from the other members of the small group!

The team smiled grimly to each other when they heard that news, especially after Actor had used that big globe to point out Greenland and that particular location, and describe a few of its primary attractions: totally isolated, just a double handful of men living in primitive conditions supposedly doing highly-classified, very specialized research, polar bears, walrus, reindeer and wolves, along with, of course, snow and ice. Lots and lots of snow and ice.

The Lieutenant who'd force-marched a small wiry second story man, a man better suited, at least in the field, to a sprint not a marathon, in full battle regalia and a 45 pound rucksack, sent that man on a twenty mile run that sent the man into near fatal collapse, well, he started complaining of chest pains and trouble breathing, and although the doctors could come up with no specific reason, they did suggest he be seen by a specialist.

Luckily, a heart and pulmonary specialist was on Base, purely by happenstance, doing a tour of the hospital and its records for some mysterious reason known only to himself and whoever had sent him. The specialist, a friendly sort, "I'm here rather unofficially, you understand; no need to be formal, just call me Michael," reviewed the chart, frowned as he examined the Lieutenant, and asked some pointed questions. He then delivered a most serious lecture about the effects of forced marches, especially with heavy loads, even on a trained, seasoned man.

"Frankly I'm surprised you haven't had trouble before, or lost some men. Certainly your being accustomed to that sort of thing helped keep you from having a more severe reaction; I'm sure you know never to send any unseasoned men out for such a trial. And of course, you make sure you and your men have been cleared by medical on a regular basis for such high-stress activities. Doubt anyone would be pleased when you start carting back corpses! Remember, Lieutenant, Sun Tzu spoke of forced marches as being quite detrimental to an army; sometimes necessary, yes, but he calculated on losing a good one third of an army in doing so. Best reserve that for when you've no other choice."

The specialist issued some pills, "not available locally, just lucky I had a supply with me," gave some orders, some specific recommendations; the Lieutenant was forced to alter his own activity level quite a bit, pretty much rode a desk for awhile. He got daily briefings on his unit from his Sergeant, who was sporting some rather spectacular bruises from a dust-up in a bar with some unidentified opponent. The Lieutenant found it all rather humiliating, and his girlfriend didn't much appreciate the fact that the one thing that the specialist said was sure to bring on the palpatations, well, just say his night-time activies were curtailed as well by the specialist's directive. It wasn't forever, just a couple of months, but he took the doctor's warning seriously. "No, absolutely not; a more pleasant way to die than most, of course, but rather embarrassing for a military man, and hardly what your wife back home would be any too proud of, nor your girlfriend any too happy to be part of."

Neither he nor the men he commanded tried anything like that again, not unless he had been given a clean bill of health from the doctors for not just himself, but for each and every one of them slated for the march. And they were re-checked at least ever few months, just in case. The procedure became routine at the Base, and surely the men and women there had to benefit from it. And he most certainly never again included an untried newcomer in such a venture.

Garrison was apprised of all this, by some means or the other, and shared that with his men; they seemed to think it only fair, but one heck of a coincidence, the Lieutenant's symptoms and all. Goniff had a slight smile, a rather grim one, at the news, "couldn't a 'appened to a nicer bloke," he affirmed and he got no arguments from any one. And the redhead down at the Cottage nodded in agreement when he shared the news, reaching out to brush his blond hair back away from his forehead, "indeed, laddie, indeed!" and her lips trembled as they pressed a light kiss on that broad brow, and her hand lay softly over his heart, feeling its once again steady beat.

And who knows what lay within her heart, only that the Dragon was fully inflamed, and that bode no good for any who had offended her. That list in her office now had two names with check marks beside them. 

That visiting specialist had been rather busy in various areas during his little stay at the Base Hospital. He'd reviewed records, noted the number and types of injuries and ailments, made a few suggestions.

He frowned over one chart, "Dr. Crandall, this one. I don't see anything past your initial examination. Where are the remainder of the records? Treatment, length of stay, discharge date, followup exam, all the rest."

His brows were raised in polite amazement at the reply, "and you let them just take him, when he obviously needed immediate treatment?"

Dr. Crandall explained about Lieutenant Garrison, about the circumstances, his opinion of the patient and the patient's 'need' for treatment, and thought he was making perfect sense til he saw the growing frown on the other doctor's face.

"Garrison? Lieutenant Craig Garrison?? This was one of his men? What on earth were they doing here? Oh dear. Any would be bad enough, of course, but, well, may I ask which one?"

That frown had now turned into a look of total dismay, "yes, well, that's not good, not good at all, doctor. Garrison's godfather is a General, you know, and the Old Man has friends, many friends. For one of Garrison's men to be attacked, injured like that, surely a cause for concern, but that Garrison felt he would not obtain proper treatment here, well, that hardly looks good for you. And that one in particular! His father will be furious."

"Boy is the apple of the Old Man's eye, you see, even if he was born on the wrong side of the blanket. Wasn't too happy about him joining Special Forces in the first place, but the boy was determined and he had the skills Garrison needed. Well, the Old Man was already keeping an eye on Garrison, of course, what with, um, well, he thought Garrison would be able to handle the boy's reserved temperment better than any of the other SF team leaders, and it wasn't like the two didn't already know each other quite well; boy practically idolized Garrison growing up, I hear. Supposedly he fits in and is liked by the others, well accepted by them all."

"It wasn't so easy to manage, getting him into that rather unusual little group, not the same rather dubious background as the others; took some quick talking and probably a bit of teasing of the records; well, more than a bit! I know his father raised his brows when he saw what had been prepared as the boy's supposed dosier, said he never knew his son was such a dangerous man, and laughed. I know he's using a different name than he was born with, or the one he received when his father formally adopted him, not wanting to trade on his father's position and all, and no, I can't tell you his father's name; I only found out by accident and am sworn to secrecy. Garrison agreed to keep the Old Man informed; wouldn't want to be in your shoes if he tells all." 

"And you said something about another of Garrison's men?" And on hearing about that case of possible heat exhaustion, got the general description, "though I never examined him; they left too quickly," he just shook his head in sympathy.

"No, wouldn't want to be in your shoes at all. The short blond one? I don't even want to TELL you who HE is! He has connections that would make your hair stand on end! Perhaps rather at the other end of the social scale, but just as powerful, I assure you! Makes me shudder to even think! Cement overshoes, all that sort of thing!"

Dr. Crandall sweated more than a little bit, and he too decided he was better suited elsewhere. He requested reassignment to the first post available, and lucked out, since one had just opened up a good distance away. He shipped out immediately, and even though he was hot, sticky and the bugs pretty much thought of him as a walking buffet sent just for their delectation, he considered himself better off than waiting for the hammer to drop back at Sheffield; back there it was just a question of which hammer would take him out first. He knew that specialist hadn't intended to tell him quite so much as he did, but HE was smart enough to figure out that General, the one who was Lieutenant Craig Garrison's godfather, was also the natural now-adoptive father of the young man he'd dismissed with such disdain. That was dangerous, probably just as dangerous as the mob connections that wiry little blond obviously had!

The physician who replaced him had quite a bit more compassion and an easier manner, and no one found they missed Crandall all that much, except for his girlfriend and she quickly found another to fill her bed. 

Michael O'Donnell paid a visit to the Cottage, then to the Mansion, hearing all their news, recounting that little inspection tour he'd just made, recounted his disappointment in one Dr. Crandall, who was now somewhere not nearly so pleasant.

Chief listened to the news that somehow a rumor had gotten started - about his parentage, that his 'father', who appeared to be the same General who was Garrison's godfather, was thoroughly pissed at his treatment, as were Goniff's 'connections', and that the good doctor had decided to relocate to avoid any retaliation. He listened with his usual stoicism, but there was an almost smile on his lips, and a glitter perhaps of amusement intermixed with satisfaction in his dark eyes.

Casino gave a laugh, "hey, Warden. This mean you and the Indian are brothers, kinda?"

Garrison smiled, looked around the table, "so it would seem, Casino. But that's the case for all of us, isn't it?" and that got thoughtful nods from each and every one of them. Chief had one of his rare smiles at the thought. 

Actor again went to the globe, pointing out the base in Egypt, giving them a brief description of the climate, facilities and local delights, including the ferocious biting insects, camels, crocodiles, snakes, and much more. Goniff got an odd look, remembering that little mission where Meghada had come back complaining about being bit by a camel, chased by a crocodile and "and don't get me started on the bedamned snakes!" He didn't even bother suppressing a delighted grin.

Meghada nodded when the men related all that to her when she stopped in, bringing sweet biscuits, two loaves of fresh bread, half a ham and a big round of cheddar cheese sent from Haven, and a really nice bottle of whisky.

"Egypt is not my favorite place, I must admit. I wish him full joy of it." Her quiet smile when she looked at Chief, at Goniff, well, there was something there that caused the hair on the back of Garrison's neck to quiver. He was beginning to see why the guys hadn't made that road trip, and it wasn't because he had ordered them not to. No, they'd just not seen any need to interfere in a process already underway. He repeated to himself something he'd thought at various times during their acquaintance, {"I hope I never really piss her off!"}

That list in the cottage had one more check mark; five names remained.

Now, Garrison leading them to take advantage of her invitation, the men settled at their usual table. Meghada turned away from the bar upon seeing them, and came over carrying a pitcher of beer that she placed squarely in the middle of the table with a warm smile. Right behind her came her youngest siblings, thirteen year old twins Coura and Douglas carrying the glasses. The twins were favorites and were greeted as eagerly as they extended their own greetings.

No one noted anything strange in Meghada leaning in over Chief's shoulder and whispering something in his ear. His face got even more impassive and only someone who knew him very well would note that slight tensing of his jaw. He exhaled heavily and nodded once, and she moved away. "Justice, brother, it is at hand. Breathe easy; watch; understand," all spoken in a tongue only he was likely to understand, well, along with her and her siblings.

It was a fine night, and she sang, and people clapped and laughed; Douglas and Coura caused some footstomping as he took a seat at the piano and she played a rollicking song or two on the guitar, the crowd singing right along on the chorus. Meghada glanced at her watch, drew in a deep breath and walked over to the bar. She bought another pitcher for the table, ordered up a double shot of bourbon for herself, making Jake grin as she told him quite firmly, "and no, tonight I do NOT want to know what's really in that bottle! I imagine it will set better if I don't know!" She made another one or two little arrangements as well, that had Jake slightly puzzled, but he shrugged and nodded. Sometimes, with her, it was just best that way.

The door pushed open and six men walked in, slowly, looking around; one motioned to the others, they nodded and came in claiming a table across the room from the team.

Chief's nostrils had flared and his head tilted back just a little at the sight. His eyes held something, though what was anyone's guess. Garrison noticed, "Chief?" looking around to see what might have cause the reaction. He just got a quick shake of the head in response, but Garrison's eyes narrowed as he looked over at the newcomers. Now, he wondered.

Richards had been unable to pull the files on the five men who'd attacked Chief; the higher-ups had thought it 'unwise' to release that information. Both Richards and Garrison had only been told to leave it alone, that the men had been properly disciplined. No one on the teams were happy about that; Garrison was severely bitter about it. He had a feeling what he considered being properly disciplined might be something quite different from that Base Commander's opinion. Actually, he'd been surprised his men hadn't dealt with it themselves, but hoped they wouldn't; it would only end up with the kind of mess that would destroy them all.

Now he had to wonder if one or more of those men might not be sitting at that table across the way. And he was beginning to not like that particular twitch that was teasing at Meghada's mouth; he was starting to get that feeling again, the one that said it was all about to hit the fan. He made a mental note to check the mirror in the morning for new gray hairs; he was pretty sure he'd find some.

So far the newcomers were content to sit, drink the complimentary pitcher of beer Jake had taken them, "we like to encourage new customers," presented with a big smile. One of the men told the others, "see, told you it was a real friendly kinda place!" and got shouts of approval from the five he'd convinced it would be worth the long drive down; he alone wasn't sharing in the beer, was sipping on a glass of whiskey instead. They'd laughed at him, since he'd had to pay for the whiskey while the beer was free, but he just grinned and told them, "what can I say? Beer gives me gas! You'll thank me later on the drive back!!" and they laughed even louder.

They'd spotted Garrison's table, and there was whispering among them when they'd spotted Chief, recognized him; there was some low laughter, some sense of eagerness, such that you could feel in hounds ready to start hunting their prey. The guys had noticed, but a quiet word from Chief kept them in place.

Meghada had sung one more song, then Coura had whined, "I'm tired of music, sister. Give us a story."

"Yeah," Douglas dove in, "a Red Duchess story," and the team frowned in confusion. Coura never whined, and Douglas had sounded a little pouty himself; and they both loved it when Meghada sang. Garrison was getting more than a little suspicious; the siblings had a devious streak a mile wide, as he well knew.

"I don't know any you haven't already heard a hundred times, kids."

Well, she didn't call them kids either; something was definitely going on. Chief let the side of his mouth twitch and Goniff caught it, elbowed Casino and jerked his chin in Chief's direction. Actor and Garrison caught the byplay and became even more watchful. They sensed a con was in play, were trying to figure out just how it was being done and with what goal.

Coura then spoke up, "then a Story Challenge! That'd be fun!"

Jake asked from his position at the bar, "a story challenge??"

Douglas nodded eagerly, "yeah, well you know how good she is at making up songs."

Well, they all knew that; she'd brought down the house on more than one occasion doing just that, and on the spur of the moment too!

"A story challenge is where one of us give her a theme, and the other gives her some words, just a few, that she has to have as a part of the story she tells. She's really good at it! She can tell some really exciting ones!"

Jake shrugged, "sounds like it could be interesting," and the locals made noises in agreement; they rarely found anything the O'Donnell woman chose to offer boring, in fact, often more exciting than they'd ever dreamed, a couple of times more exciting than they really wanted, though they weren't remembering that now. The newcomers didn't seem too impressed, but the beer was making them remarkably relaxed and willing to wait; they intended to have little reunion with the Indian as soon as they saw him leave the table and get away from those other guys, but for now they were willing to wait. 

Douglas thought for a second, then grinned a rather sly smile, "alright then, a Red Duchess story, the theme - Justice", and Coura added, her grin even bigger, her eyes a little glittery, "and the words: cloak, gloves, crystal, red, green, run. That should be enough to get a good story, don't you think, sister?"

And Coura walked over to pick up a towel and a small metal bin from the bar, turned the bin upside down on her lap, covered it with the towel, and started to beat out a muted tap - tap, pause, tap - tap. Douglas followed along with a drumming of his fingers on the table, the sound just a hair's breath later, echo'ing the ones she was making. More than one thought the sound rather made the hair on the back of their necks quiver.

Meghada drew a deep breath and walked toward the far end of the bar and began, her voice falling into the story-telling cadence she'd learned as a child, and her face, her eyes, the way she held her body, they all changed as well, her own strong personality draining away to be replaced by someone quite different. Garrison had an odd thought, that it was almost as if it wasn't really Meghada standing there anymore, more that someone, something was using her as a conduit to tell the story. He found he tended to get odd thoughts whenever she was around, sometimes even when her name was just mentioned, {"I probably just need to get more sleep!"}

"The Red Duchess had many responsibilities in her caring for the People," and her capitalization of that word was more than evident in her voice, "for she was not just their war leader, but their leader in all ways. And one of her duties was the judging and righting of wrongs. Oh, not the little everyday things, the petty disagreements, disputes and arguments; those were left to the Council of Judges, and those more often ending in rueful laughter and a shaking of hands, followed by the sharing of a tankard of ale."

"No, her part came in the big things, things that threatened or harmed the Clan as a whole, things that were an affront to who and what they were, and though she was not called upon to do this very often, since the People for the most part kept to the rules history set down for them, often outsiders came to the land, and it seems that they had little or no knowledge of Clan ways, no respect for the People."

"And it would have seemed strange to anyone not knowing them well, perhaps but the judging by the Red Duchess came not in the Halls Of Justice where the Council sat, but in a common room, witnessed by the accuser and the accused and any of the People who might happen to be present when she walked in. It had been so since the earliest days, for that was an important part, that Judging could come upon you at any time, even the most unexpected."

"Now, on this evening, she held her head high as she entered the small drinking house, red cloak around her shoulders, the hood over her dark red hair, silver pin fastening it at her neck, red gloves adorning her hands. As she came in, the talking stopped and those of the People came to quick attention, for it seems the time of Judging was now, the place, here, but for whom?? She lowered her hood, and then pulled off her gloves, slowly and gave them into the hand of the man who was standing at the bar." Meghada played out those motions in exquisite charade.

"Silently, she moved through the people, raising her right hand to almost but not quite touch them, each and every one of those entrusted to her. In her left hand, she clasped a small round ball of perhaps white stone, perhaps marble. They could not see it clearly for she held it close to her heart, but they knew it was there." As she continued, she did exactly that, approaching, almost but not quite touching each of the locals.

"From each, provided they nodded their consent," and she waited til she got that nod of consent here, and she did, as she'd started with Coura and Douglas and they had led the way for the others to follow, "she drew a tiny flicker from them, leaving something of her own in return. From some she drew gentleness, returning resolve; from some joy, returning knowledge; from others she drew grief or anger, perhaps pain, returning solace, control, comfort. Always it was a fair exchange, a portion of that which they had in excess, in return for something they lacked but could make good use of."

By now she had reached Garrison's table, and following the lead of those she'd approached earlier, they each nodded as she held out her hand to them. Garrison blinked and frowned slightly, startled at what surely had to have been a spark of static electricity from her hand. Perhaps she lingered just a moment longer in front of Chief, perhaps not.

"And when she had made the exchange with all of the People there, she held in her hand not a globe of solid stone, but now a glowing globe of clear crystal, holding it close to her breast, but now clearly visible to them, and to those who watched, it seemed to pulse in tune with their heartbeat." Her left hand was held in front of her now, cupped as if holding something, and you could almost make out a round shining object sitting there.

Actor blinked, realized that that tapping being done by the twins was now in the pattern, rhythm of a steady heartbeat, and his own heartbeat was echoing that rhythm.

"Now there were left only the outsiders, two tables of them, sitting there, bewildered at why they'd been brought here, bewildered at what they were witnessing, perhaps becoming a little nervous when her attention moved to them."

The five men were too taken aback to notice the man pulling away from their table, the one who'd encouraged them to visit this out-of-the-way pub, moving to the bar, leaving only the five of them to face her.

"From them she asked no permission, merely drew close and held out to each of them, not her right hand, but her left, the one holding the crystal, as if reading what they held within themselves. The first table of men she only nodded to when she was done, moved to the second table where she repeated her movements."

"She then drew back her hand and her face lost its gentle contemplative lines, to grow stern, and in her hand the clear crystal globe turned to a swirling blood red and midnight black. She placed the globe on their table, equal distance from each of them, and they found themselves unable to move away from it. She drew the silver pin from the neck of her cloak, and used it to prick each of the fingers on her left hand, then wounding herself savagely in the palm of that same hand, til the blood flowed freely. And her bleeding hand reached out to them, and the words came in solemn measure as she pronounced judgement, sentence upon the ones who had offended."

Her actions had followed her words, if only in pantomine, and her voice changed again, and Actor felt the pulse in his head, heard that tapping become harder, now almost drum beats, still in time with the beating of his heart.

"You, Outlanders, my judgement is upon you. Harm you have done to one we call brother, harm to one who sits firmly within our hearts. In doing so, harm have you done to the People, the Clan itself, for we are all one, and together we form the Clan. And for this harm, your payment will be harsh. Hear me and weep bitterly at your fate! You will go forth from this place and your bones will ache as if with a great ague; your fingers will tremble beyond your control. You will have no desire for nourishment, and should you partake, you will spew it forth with great abandon. You will yearn for water, yet be unable to swallow it. You will stop to piss upon the roadside, and see only a stream of blood issue forth. Your prick will shrink and fail you; it will never think to rise again. Your very brain will become fevered, and you will not know one hand from the other. Your worst nightmares will follow you, haunting your footsteps by day, your dreams by night, always there, ready to rend you. Your thoughts will be filled with confusion. Yet, throughout, one thing you will know, that what has befallen you is of your own doing, Justice, fully earned. You will fall into a heap of bones, and those bones will be tossed into a common grave, unmarked and unmourned. This, this is the judgement of the Red Duchess, as it is my duty, my right to declare. Now, go, run, flee, for your time is short. Go!" And the Red Duchess pointed to the door, and the Outlanders fled in great disarray." 

Seeing her outstretched hand, the men from Sheffield took the hint and overturning their chairs departed in a panic, the one at the bar joining them, the squeal of their departing jeep sounding loud and clear. The tapping, the drumbeats didn't stop, though, and no one said a word, til she began again, her voice no longer the voice of judgement, but once again the voice of the story-teller.

"And she returned to her dwelling, removing the red cloak of Justice, the red gloves with great respect, handing them over to one of her household who folded them away for the next time they would be used, though praying it would not be soon for the toll it would take, on the Clan and on her. And each day she went to the heights, to listen to the wind as it called to her, to the screaming of the eagles as they spoke to her. And the day came when she returned down from the heights, and called for her green cloak, her green gloves, and clad therein she made her way to the town square, there to mount the platform at the center. She raised her gloved hands, and her words were measured, serene, and her People gathered, listened."

"It is done; those who have wronged one of the Clan, and therefore wronged all of the Clan, they are no more. All that was given to them as their Judgement has come to pass, and they have departed this life. By Sweet Mother Erdu's will, may they sit long in the grey shadows thinking over their fate and what brought them to it. And when they once again step upon the Wheel of Life, may they strive to do better." She paused, and smiled a very grim smile, and the smile was one only one of the Clan could treasure, although they did, for it was on their behalf, "or, at least, may they remember to tread lightly around the Clan." And she drew the hood of her cloak over her head and made her way back home, there to set the green garments of Truth aside, and gather her children and her consort into her eager arms, glad as always to have done her duty as the Red Duchess, as she had been called to do by the Sweet Mother, but glad also to once again become just a woman, well, as much as a Dragon could be." 

And the tapping, the druming stopped, and people blinked as if they were waking from a doze, though remembering everything (though that remembering would be short, fading by morning, replaced only by the memory of an evening filled with music). Well, except for the men at the round tables, both the ones remaining there now, and the ones who'd left in such a panic; they would remember quite well.

There was a tension in the air, broken only when Old Howie complained, "but, lass, you left out the best part!"

She smiled over at the old man, one of her favorites, "did I now, Howie, and what was that?" Lines of strain and weariness were clear upon her face now.

He puffed up proudly, "why, when the old odd-jobs man at the corner of the crowd elbowed his friend in the ribs," giving Jake a good poke at the same time, "and told him, 'see, Jake, jus like I've always told ye; don't pay to piss her off!"

And the tension broke as one man snorted, then the room broke into scattered laughs, and the laughter caught hold and the room roared with the sound. She came to take her place at the team's table, and she and Chief exchanged a long, silent look, and the subject was turned to the latest foolishness the 'socialites' had tried to involve her in. And later Casino laid awake, listening, waiting, so that he could rouse his friend from his nightmares that just wouldn't seem to end, but drifted off to sleep after awhile, thinking {"tonight, maybe there just won't be any."} And, of a surety, there were not.

"Meghada, I know it's ludicrous, but it's what I'm being asked. Surely it could do no harm, and I'd have you back by tomorrow evening."

Kevin Richards sounded embarrassed and frustrated as he argued with the young woman. He'd arrived, asked to see her privately, and she had motioned him over to a corner of the Common Room, taking her drink with her. That wasn't much to his liking; what he'd come to ask was so ridiculous he didn't much like discussing it in front of the others, but he saw she wasn't going to accommodate him in moving to another room, and seemingly not in his request either. Garrison frowned; he didn't like to see her bullied, though he had to admit she wasn't one to put up with much of it.

"Just what are you asking 'er to do, Major, that she dont want to?" came from the little pickpocket, now somehow perched on the back of a chair not two feet away. Richards didn't remember him coming close even, much less climbing up there, and was more than sure he didn't like that somehow challenging tone of voice. His lips tightened, thought to tell him and the others to mind their own business, but then just shrugged in aggravation at the sheer foolishness of the whole thing.

"I've been asked to have her come up to the Base at Sheffield and. . ." he flushed, "and talk to five men in the hospital there. Seems they've gotten the crazy notion she's somehow put a, well, a curse on them. Well, it's true the doctors can't figure out what's wrong with them, a whole lot of different symptoms, none too pleasant to be sure, some damned unpleasant, though the doctors say there's nothing physical they can find, decided it's all in their minds, but with a very serious effect on their well-being. But, the men are telling this wild story of visiting the pub here and her placing a curse on them!"

"Of course, the man who supposedly came with them, he denies anything of the sort happened. Says they must have gotten hold of some bad whiskey somewhere after they parted company; he sure never saw anything like that and he was with them the whole time til they got back to Base! And the people down at the pub here thought I was a lunatic when I asked, and rightly so, of course! Said the men came, drank some beer, listened to her and her brother and sister sing for awhile and left. The bartender assured me the beer was from the same keg everyone else was drinking out of, not that he'd ever heard of beer going bad and affecting the mind, not like hard liquor could do sometimes. Still, the doctors thought having her come talk to them, explain to the men that she'd done no such thing just might help at least calm them down enough the head doctors can get through to them."

The men were glancing at each other, all except Chief, who had stayed in his perch by the window, never taking his eyes off her.

"So, Meghada, we can leave now, spend the night in London, go on in the morning; I'll have you back by nightfall tomorrow. If you'll just . . ." 

Her word was quiet and distant and stone cold.

"No."

Richards blinked at her, "what do you mean, no?"

"I mean simply that, no." She quietly sipped at her glass, raising her eyes to him, and he drew back at the way the gold-brown seemed to glitter, almost to whirl in the light.

"I'm hardly in the habit of ill-wishing innocent men, Kevin. If they got hold of bad whiskey, there is nothing I can do for them. If they've stepped in front of an ill-wishing fairly given, there is nothing I would choose to do for these strangers. We each bear responsibility for our own actions; I bear the responsibility for not coming with you; they bear the responsibility for whatever actions they may have taken to cause an ill-wishing or even the imagining of the same."

"Come now, Kevin, and have a drink, and turn the conversation to something more pleasant. Just what foolishness is Julie up to these days? Surely she was joking when she said she wanted me to join her Ladies' Entertainment Committee along with Lady Treadwell!! She has to know that cannot end well! The last time that woman and I met up she seemed quite upset with me and even rather offended. I was only trying to be helpful, you know, when I suggested to her husband that I knew where he could find a large wicker basket and a flute. Well, it seemed he was in need of such things, since he'd obviously already found a large snake," and something in her face made him take a deep breath and change the subject as she'd suggested.

He really hoped that business about Lord and Lady Treadwell was hyperbole, but somehow he rather doubted it. It would be just like her, and having met Lady Treadwell, rather apt. He suppressed a snicker at the vision that brought to his mind, tall gangly Lord Treadwell sitting crosslegged with a flute, large wicker basket in front of him, and a large snake with Lady Treadwell's form weaving back and forth up from the basket. {"Yes, really quite apt!"}

Richards had left, alone. The men had shared another round of that excellent whiskey she'd provided, her sipping along with them. The room was quieter than usual. Chief spoke in a voice hardly louder than a whisper, in the tongue of his people "sister, my thanks," and her gentle smile answered him, her words in that same language, "Clan Justice, brother, as promised." And although the words were heard, no one questioned.

They heard no more of those five men; Garrison had thought to inquire but decided against it, deciding he really didn't want to know.

Actor would look at her sometimes, wondering, thinking of all the strange things he'd seen and heard in his travels, wondering if perhaps she wasn't one of the stranger of those things.

Casino just shrugged it all off like most things he really didn't want to think about.

Goniff knew and smiled at the knowing, thinking of all she was, his Dragon, his lady. His eyes had just a bit of an odd glitter as well as he thought of her.

Chief, well, the process begun when he'd joined this group of men, a process continued with Meghada's brother Ian at the pub when the daytrippers had played those games, he knew that process was now, if not complete, then close to it, and that he, the one who'd had no one, the one who was alone, now had not only these, his brothers-in-spirit, but also a broader family, a family that valued and loved him, and he counted himself as blessed. Hell, he even had a General as a father!


End file.
